


The Way Things Are

by SirLadySketch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Burgeoning Romance, Dalish, Dalish life, Gen, headcanons, pre-balcony, set during that time that Solas needs to make up his mind about commitment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:10:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirLadySketch/pseuds/SirLadySketch
Summary: After the Inquisitor and her companions complete Keeper Hawen’s final request, he invites them to join the clan for the night. Solas gets moody, thinking about the way things were for his people and how they are now. Remli tries to allay some of those worries by painting a different light on the Dalish lifestyle. Post Fade-kiss, pre-balcony Solavellan romance.





	

When the Inquisitor and her party arrived with the last of the pelts for the clan, the sky was already fading to a purple blush with a sprinkling of stars. The clouds burned across the horizon in rich reds and yellows, and the ruined markers along the road stood as tall black shadows against the fading daylight. To the west, the clan’s fires were burning high and the smell of roasting meats wafted through the air, and to the Inquisition troop, weary from a day of hunting the Venatori and the undead, it made the march back to their base camp tents seem all the longer. Remli paused at the edge of the Dalish setting, remembering other clan gatherings around other campfires in what seemed a completely different lifetime ago.

Keeper Hawen found her watching the halla bedding down in the protective cave, her mind miles away. He touched her arm with a small smile that deepened as she blinked away old memories.  
“You and your people are welcome to join us for the evening, Da’len,” he said, inviting her towards the fire with the sweep of his hand. “No daughter of the Dalish should spend the night in a shem tent where there are family aravels nearby.”

She looked around the clearing to see where the others of her party were waiting, standing apart from the small band of elves—not in a fearful or disdainful way, it was more a separation of polite respect, a separation of cultures. Of course, Varric seemed most interested in what was going on, scratching his chin and making thoughtful noises under his breath. Cole was… well, she didn’t see him, but she also didn’t hear any angry noises around the camp, so he was probably alright. And Solas… well, Solas was watching her. 

When he caught her eye, he gave her a slight smile and nod. Apparently he’d heard Hawen’s offer, and she took the gesture to indicate that he would not be adverse to spending an evening among her people. Whatever previous slights the Dalish had shouldered on him, he seemed willing enough to bear their company tonight, and Varric would go along with it. Maybe he felt that the nearby ruins would provide ample intrigues in the Fade. Maybe he thought her homesick, and believed she would benefit from some time amongst her people once again. Maybe he was hungry—the smell of the spitted meat did smell rather good. And it was a long walk up the river back to the Inquisition camp…. 

She opened her mouth to thank Hawen for the invitation when her stomach growled, apparently overcome by the scent of cooked venison. She flushed, sheepish, although Hawen only laughed.  
“Dinner, Da’len, and then we shall speak, and you can tell me more of how a child of the Dales comes to lead a pack of humans and.. city elves,” he said, giving Solas a curious glance, but then turning back to guide her towards the fire. As they walked, he motioned to the others of the group to follow suit.

\- - -  
It was… odd, to say the least. On the one hand, everything felt familiar—over dinner, the laughing and talking of a clan after a busy day, after the meal, the short bursts of song and tales of travels. Sharing news of mutual friends, lauding a youth with freshly inked vallaslin, commiserating on poor traveling conditions. Murmuring prayers for those who had not made the journey, and wondering at the fate of clans and friends lost in the forests, unseen for years.

Of course, it was different, too. The sights and smells that would have once been welcome reminders of home now seemed strange, unfamiliar things in light of her new rituals and habits with the Inquisition. She was looking forward to sleeping under the stars, but a part of her missed the soft blankets and bedroll that awaited her back with the Inquisition supplies. She’d gotten used to the quiet whickerings of their mounts—now, the bleat of a halla gave her pause. It was a normal Dalish sound, part of a normal Dalish camp, but it had become unfamiliar. It made her stop, think, remember. Had she really forgotten the familiar sounds of her people so quickly, to replace them so easily with the sounds of human habitations? 

She lifted her gaze from the fire, and caught sight of Solas at the edge of camp. He was alone once again, sitting half in shadow under the trunk of the tree sheltering the aravel. He watched the clan go about the business of settling down before sleep, but his lips were tight, his eyes partially closed. He fiddled with the traces tied to his staff, worrying over some thought that niggled at him. 

Something weighed heavily on his mind, so much that he did not realize she approached until she’d touched his arm. He started and his eyes met hers, then some of the tension left his face. She smiled, keeping her touch light.  
“Everything alright? You seem...” She floundered at that, trying to decide the best way to describe the slightly sour, thin lipped expression that had settled on Solas’ face. Dorian would have suggested ‘constipated’, and Varric, had he been paying attention, would mention something lewd and potentially rude to the clan. Cole, bless him… well, it was fortunate Cole was with Emalien, they were still working on teaching the boy tact. Remli tsked, then decided to finish the thought with neutrality. “You seem unquiet.”

He sighed and shook his head, turning his attention back towards the heart of the group where bedrolls were being laid out by the fire. 

“I am contemplating the remnants of the People. Are all clans so diminished? Nothing more than a handful of people, scraping out a life from the paltry earth?” he said asked, frowning at the group surrounding the fire. His voice seemed hollow, expression tight, as though the fate of the scattered clans was his burden to bear, and he staggered under the weight. 

She wanted nothing more than to embrace him, to help dispel his gloom and draw him closer, into the clan’s warmth. Still, she hesitated—it had been weeks, and there had been moments where he’d seemed like he wanted to say something more, but they had not spoken further of what happened in the Fade, and she was loathe to press him with too much unsolicited physical contact when he wavered on uncertainty. She would not push the matter, not when all signs began to indicate that his interest was not as keen as her own. And he was a private man—unsolicited touch might seem too forward and bold, and unwanted signs of affection might frighten him back behind that cool mask she’d worked so long and hard to draw away.

There was also the clan to consider—their numbers were small, it was true, but their eyes were sharp, and their hunters skirting the camp, keeping watch. And while she didn’t particularly care about scandal or her reputation among the Dalish clans, she knew Solas valued his pride and privacy. She would not cause him any duress with a lingering touch that would become gossip halfway across the Dales by morning.  
All in all, she settled for a friendly pat on the shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, then sat down beside him. Bold, perhaps, but she was the Inquisitor, damn it. She could take some social liberties, especially when she was so intimately familiar with Dalish customs (and when one could feasibly smudge the line of propriety). And Solas had never shied away from her when she sat next to him. Besides, it would be easier to talk, side by side. 

She ignored Hawen’s interested glance, and focused instead on pointing out key areas around the campsite.

“Each clan is different in size and build, but I can tell you without hesitation that we’re not seeing this group in its entirety,” she said, giving him a reassuring smile. “Once a clan finds an area to camp for any length of time, everyone sort of wanders off to complete their jobs. Hunters go off to restock the meat stores and keep an eye out for things of interest, while crafters may go out foraging for supplies or things to trade. Firsts and Seconds may go off to perform rituals at local shrines, which can leave them away from the camp for hours or even several days. It’s not uncommon for a clan to scatter while they’re camped—especially after spending extended periods of time in the aravels. I used to sleep in trees, just for the air.”

She pointed to the clan’s aravel, still undergoing repairs. “It may not look like much, but you can fit a fair number of people in one of those, plus supplies. And most of my clan preferred riding or walking along our fleet, so we only had three or four at a time, depending on the time of year and how many supplies we needed to carry with us. But we had 30 to 40 people at any given time, usually.” She gestured out into the woods, shrugging her shoulder. 

“And most clans have caches of supplies so they don’t have to carry everything along with them. Warded, of course, and hidden, but there in cases of emergency. I cannot speak for this clan, but Lavellans have multiple areas of rest and restocking all over the Free Marches.”

She laughed, watching him out of the corner of her eye. “And, of course, there are other times that clan members desire privacy—even in times of war, sometimes it’s worth the risk of bedding down away from the rest of your clan, who are more or less your immediate and extended family, and as such feel entitled to knowing each and every intimate detail of your life.”

This brought a small smile, although the tension did not completely fade from his face. He studied the clan members around the fire, then looked beyond the stream to the war-torn fields in the distance.  
“Still, it seems such a tentative existence, being at the mercy of the wilds and weather,” he said. “To live such a life, and yet flourish, it is no wonder the Dalish are considered fierce in their clashes with humans.” 

“We’re hardly Avvar barbarians, Solas,” she laughed. “We don’t actively stand in thunderstorms, challenging the gods to strike us with inspiration. And we’re not city elves, bending and scraping to every human we meet, trying not to get kicked or killed. We live in the woods, the plains, the hills, the valleys, but that hardly makes us uncivilized.” 

She paused, thinking of a mountain of pillows and furs waiting for her back home. “I will concede a point to the humans where beds are concerned, however. It beats sleeping on rocks.”

They fell into silence once again, each lost in their own thoughts. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine they were back in the Free Marches, resting after a long day of hunting in the hills. The smells were familiar, the sound low and welcoming. Hawen even reminded her of her father—a bit, anyway—and his clan had always travelled farther South and West than the Lavellans. It wasn’t surprising that the keepers knew each other—of course they would, given that they would meet at the Arlathvhen, and no doubt kept in correspondence in the years between. 

Still, as she sat there and listened to Varric’s attempts at wheedling more information out of the Keeper, it struck her how odd it was to go to the broken Dales, the place of her people, and feel… Pride? Sorrow? Bittersweet nostalgia? That was how she figured she was supposed to feel, anyway, but she also looked forward to camping in the woods with her companions. Human, dwarf, elf, Qunari—their little band had fast become home over the last few months, her own ragtag clan of misfits trying to save the world in their own unique ways—she had to wonder, when had they become more than allies in the war?

“Do you miss it?” Solas asked, interrupting her thoughts. When she turned to him, he gestured to the camp. “Traveling from place to place, visiting familiar sites, hunting in the trees?”

“It’s not like I’m housebound,” she laughed. “Harding seems to report in with new things that need my personal attention on an almost daily basis. And camping in Inquisition tents is not so different than sleeping by the aravels.”

“But clans are families, are they not? Do you not miss your parents, your siblings, your cousins, your friends?” he pressed, although she was uncertain as to why it mattered so much.

She frowned, staring out into the firelight. “Yes and no,” she admitted. “My mother died when I was young, and I had a falling out with my father years ago. I haven’t seen my brother in a long time, and the schism caused… issues… in my position. My last close ties to the clan were to Deshanna, so it was a bit of a relief when she asked me to go to the Conclave.” 

She shrugged, toeing the ground with her boot. “To be honest, wandering around with everyone over the last few months has felt like a moving about in a proper clan, so… I suppose I miss Deshanna, and the anonymity and freedom that comes with being an insignificant part of the clan.”

She shifted, looking over the camp, biting her lip in thought. “I once told Cassandra that home was where I was, but I think it’s more accurate to say it’s where I am, alongside the people I’m with. I enjoy the Inquisition’s camping trips, and the company we keep.”

She gave his hand a small squeeze, smiling. “One day I’ll return, I’m sure, but it might not be forever—if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the world is full of amazing places to visit and explore. But I’m not particularly inclined on going anywhere else anytime soon.”

“Cassandra would probably have something to say about it if you did,” he replied lightly, a slight smile on his face. She laughed. 

“I don’t think she’d outright yell at me,” Remli conceded, “but I would certainly not hear the end of her exasperated sighs as she chased me around the Dales.” They both laughed at that, picturing Cassandra running about, yelling about the Maker and Andraste having some higher purpose for everything, then making disgusted noises if anything particularly heathenistic occurred. Remli paused, then, a thought coming to her.

“I will return to my clan one day,” she said, tilting her head. “After everything is sorted out and Cassandra is adequately distracted elsewhere, of course. I’d like to see Deshanna again, to let her know I’m alright and to tell her about some of the things we’ve seen in our travels. You’re welcome to come with me if you’d like. I could show you that we really aren’t as ‘diminished’ as you think.”

He lowered his head. “It was unkind of me to speak in such a way,” he said, not meeting her eye. “My apologies, I spoke out of turn.”

“It was not unkind, it was _uninformed_ ,” she said, trying to soften her words with a smile. She dipped her head to catch his eye. “Come with me,” she repeated, squeezing his hand once again. “It’s really not such a terrible fate as you seem to think. I think you would like Deshanna, and I know our First would love talking to you about your experiences in the Fade. And it wouldn’t be terribly long—I don’t think the Inquisition forces could do without us for more than a few weeks, and I don’t think I could take many of Deshanna’s lectures about being a proper Da’len.” 

She laughed, although Solas shook his head. “I am not sure that would be… ,” he stopped, seeing her expression falter. “Perhaps,” he finished with a small smile.

 _“The keeper’s face darkens at the words, anger and betrayal, hand raised, a flash of light, a ward to hold off the night—‘I will hear no more of your lies.’ The man is gone but He remains in dreaming, dealing, done._ Sometimes it is best not to say anything when you know the truth will hurt,” said Cole, appearing between them. He turned his face to look at Remli, and his wide-brimmed hat effectively hit Solas in the face, separating them. “It’s better to remain silent than to tell a lie. But he doesn’t want to lie, not to you, so he says what he wants, not what he knows.” 

“You know, most men just settle for asking their object of affection questions about themselves, saying what they think the lady wants to hear,” Varric interrupted, calling over his book as he scratched notes into his journal. “It might work out better for you in the long run if you try that tactic, Chuckles, instead of asking why the Dalish are so diminished. A little flattery might improve your chances.”  
Beside Varric, Hawen gazed at Solas and the Inquisitor with an indulgent smile, looking for all the world like a proud father seeing his child well-matched. Solas shifted away from the Inquisitor and Cole ever so slightly, straightening his back. 

“Am I not permitted curiosity in learning more of the Dalish customs, Child of Stone? It seems you have taken an interest in the clan culture as well,” Solas replied, voice cool. He sounded completely unfazed, although Remli could see the tips of his ears were blushed pink.

Varric wasn’t put off, either. “Yes, but my questions have to do with coming up with names for characters and descriptions of how things work around camp. Things Daisy never really wanted to tell me about, and things that Longshot says are boring. But your questions sound suspiciously like you’re trying to learn what to expect when you go home to meet her parents. Interested in becoming clan Lavellan’s mage in reserve?”

Remli laughed, taking pity on Solas and pulling Cole up with her as she got to her feet. “There’s no shame in wanting to learn more about another people’s culture, Varric,” she chided him, although she softened her words with a smile. “Didn’t you have to learn odd human customs when you first started traveling with Cassandra?”

“I’m a surface dwarf, which means we more or less live like humans. But Cassandra’s customs more or less involved grumbling about ingrates and walking at a very fast pace,” Varric replied, closing his book of notes. “And asking a lot of questions about things that really had nothing to do with what she claimed she was investigating at the time.”

“Oh? And just how close were you to the Champion?” Remli asked, grinning as Varric flinched.

“Fine, fine, I retract my questions. I’m sure Solas asks out of curiosity after waking up from all of his adventures in the Fade to find the real world not quite as brilliant as they are in his dreams.”

“Things aren’t brilliant in the Fade, but they do glow,” supplied Cole, picking up a bedroll and flapping it out as if to fluff it. “Brilliant means that something is too bright to look at, but most things in the Fade are soft. Except for the Inquisitor. She burns a radiant fire in the Fade. She is brilliant.”

“That’s… helpful Kid, thanks,” Varric replied. “I honestly don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that, but I guess I can work it into the book somehow.”

“Or you could not write a book about it,” said Remli, flushing. “I don’t know how comfortable I am with the thought of you describing me glowing like a torch. You’d have a far more realistic book if you talked about that time we were up to our asses in bog muck than waxing poetic about visions in the Fade.” 

“Some of us were up to our chins in that muck, thank you,” lamented Varric. “I still worry about finding crap in my chest hair. Besides, people don’t want realism, they want escapist literature so they can forget about the state of the world for a while.”

“So you’re telling me that describing how the Champion’s consort punched his fist through a man’s heart makes the real world a little more bearable?” she asked.

“Ok, see, that’s the problem with you people. You get up to such weird shit that the things you do seem impossible. Yes,” he staved off Cole’s pending interruption. “Fenris really did pull out someone’s heart with his fist. Just like you really did walk out of the Fade, and you really did pull a mountain down on top of your head and survive, and you really do go riding around Thedas on an undead horse.”

“Fluffy has nothing to do with this!” she protested.

“Point is,” Varric continued as though she hadn’t interrupted, “You’ve gotta level out the weird realism with normal realism, or people won’t take you seriously. Hence my questions about living in the clan. See? A legitimate reason for inquiry, no hidden agenda at all.” He gave Solas another meaningful look, although the mage refused to take the bait. “I want to know the way things are.”

“Well, the invitation is an open one,” she said, trying to steer the conversation back towards their travels. “If any of you have an interest in joining me when I return to my clan, you are welcome to come. See for yourself, the life of a Dalish clan is not so wild or exciting as you might think. We don’t dance naked in the moonlight unless the wine is particularly strong and we are extremely young and foolish. We eat, we sleep, we go about our daily lives without much variation. If everyone comes it might be prudent of me to send prior warning, but…” she laughed. “Deshanna always did say I was full of surprises.”

A quiet cough drew her attention back into camp, where Hawen walked towards their little group. “Sylvirem’lin,” he said, pretending as though the whole clan had not heard them bickering. “I apologize for the intrusion, but we’re going to let the fires burn down for the night. We’ve prepared pallets for you and your companions if you’re ready to retire.”

She smiled, ducking her head in thanks and deference to the man who was putting them up—and putting up with them—for the night.

“Ma serannas, Hahren,” she said, flushing a bit in embarrassment. “We appreciate your hospitality, and thank you for your kindness. I apologize for our noise—a terrible habit I’ve picked up from the humans during my stay.”

He smiled at that, gesturing towards the clearing where the other bedrolls lay. “It is good to hear you so at ease among such an… odd company,” he hedged, although there was humor in his voice. “And it is good to see that you are well looked after.” There was a very deliberate look in Solas’ direction, but Remli tactfully sidestepped the implied question.

“I have been very fortunate in my recent adventures, both in companionship and in our challenges,” she agreed, not daring to look at her friends. Her smile softened, and she added, “And while it is not an easy path by any means, I am grateful for the ways things are.”

**Author's Note:**

> I realize it's been like... a year... since I posted.... Oops? Appreciate you guys sticking with me. <3


End file.
